


You Aren't Alone

by drswriting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I promise, Panic Attacks, ends fluffy, for the reader, physical and emotional abuse mentions, trauma mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drswriting/pseuds/drswriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further down the table, Sam had nearly his whole face in a book; a sight which made you giggle and break the silence. He started at the sound, looking around briefly before rolling his eyes at you. “What,” you protested, standing up and stretching. “You probably have ink on your nose from pressing it into the book so hard.” Sam shook his head and set the book down. Strange things started to happen all at once.</p><p>A sharp inhale brought you back to the bunker, Sam was on his feet now towering above you. “______?” he asked, meeting your eyes. A flash of black, obscuring Sam’s normal hazel eyes, sent your knees buckling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Aren't Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Just an odd little exercise that teamfreewillimagines from tumblr sort of helped inspire.
> 
> Second person, "you" / reader perspective.

It had been a whirlwind of several months since you paired up with the Winchester brothers. After bumping into them on a job in Tulsa, they were impressed with your skills. After a few discussions and a few more nights out at the bar, they agreed to take you on as a third partner. When you arrived at their “bunker” you could see why they needed the extra hands and eyes. They monitored the entire country at a close watch, and had enough information inside the bunker to be reading for several lifetimes. 

Everyone gets their start in the business somehow, and yours was just as rough as any hunter. After a traumatic experience with an ex-boyfriend, some martial arts classes, and a few years later, you realized he was a real demon. Literally. You weren’t the only one of the asshole’s trail, though, and a rogue huntress saved your skin. You never did catch her name, but you did find a few other hunters, and eventually, built yourself a bank of know-how. Until you ran into the Winchesters, you’d spent the past 4 years traveling and learning as much as you could from whoever was willing to teach.

Today, Dean had ventured outside the bunker to pick up some supplies – mostly food, which Dean insisted on doing the shopping for himself, ever since Sam forgot his pie last month. You and Sam had been trying to crack this case open for the past week. Between too much caffeine intake and too little sleep, your head was absolutely pounding. You glanced up from your spot at the table to assess the damage. Three piles of different sized books surrounded you, covering a layer of case files and newspaper clippings. Highlighters and pens and bookmarks scattered the mess as well, and somehow, two coffee mugs – drained empty – sat amongst the clutter. 

Further down the table, Sam had nearly his whole face in a book; a sight which made you giggle and break the silence. He started at the sound, looking around briefly before rolling his eyes at you. “What,” you protested, standing up and stretching. “You probably have ink on your nose from pressing it into the book so hard.” Sam shook his head and set the book down. Strange things started to happen all at once. 

One minute you were in the bunker, the next you were curled on the concrete floor of his basement, trying to escape his blows and his yells. A sharp inhale brought you back to the bunker, Sam was on his feet now towering above you. “______?” he asked, meeting your eyes. A flash of black, obscuring Sam’s normal hazel eyes, sent your knees buckling. The room was spinning, that laughter and ridicule was ringing in your ears. One hand clutched at your chest, the other gripped your hair, desperately trying to keep your heart from exploding. All of this happened in the space of just a few seconds but it felt like hours.

“Hey, hey hey, ______, I’m here,” Sam’s voice was suddenly very close. Your eyes opened wide to see him kneeling right in front of you. Short, wheezing breaths came noisily out of your mouth as you desperately tried to scramble backwards on the marble floor. Somehow, you managed to get your footing but the second you rise to your feet, your vision goes black. Warm, steady hands are on you now, easing you down to the floor. 

“N-no, get off – don’t - !” you cried out, seeing a different man before you, thin frame and short cropped hair. “_____! ______, you’ve got to focus,” Sam calls loudly at you. You can barely convince your chest to rise because it feels so tight. Your head is pounding and nothing makes sense. “I’m right here, ______. You’re safe. You’re in the bunker. It’s a Thursday. Dean went to get food.” Sam talks to you in a low, gentle voice while keeping one enormous hand on your head, and the other on your shoulder. 

“Sam?” you gasp, realizing your cheeks are wet. As you go to wipe them, you also notice your hands are shaking badly. “Yes, _____. You need to breathe, okay?” He demonstrates by taking an exaggerated breath in, and blowing it out while gesturing in a circular motion with his hand. You try to copy him and make sense of the position you’re currently sitting in. “Good, good. Keep it going, slowly,” he says. Your eyes connect with his again, and there’s deep concern there. But thankfully, no black. You shut your eyes and grab his soft flannel shirt, fisting some of it in your sweaty, trembling hand. Breathe in, blow out. “There you go, good job,” he murmurs, not wanting to break your concentration. His thumb rubs absentmindedly against your temple, over large palm cupping the side of your face.

Finally, you begin to feel things other than the panic. Like the cold marble wall pressing against your back, your foot staring to fall asleep because you’re partially sitting on it. The sensation in your chest loosens ever so slightly, and you open your eyes carefully. There is Sam, awkwardly crouched in front of you, while also keeping a grip on your shoulder and forehead. You really pull in the air now, feeling it fill your diaphragm. It’s a huge relief. Sam smiles at you sheepishly, and then of all things, you start to laugh. You chuckle at first, but it turns into a full belly laugh as you unfold yourself from the wall. 

“______?” Sam asks. He’s not laughing with you, but at least he’s smiling. You can see relief on his face too. “Here,” he offers his arm and helps you to your feet. He keeps a hand on the small of your back, making sure you’re steady. You scrub at your face, wiping the rest of the tears away. You look up at Sam and hold out your hand. “Vibrating like a tuning fork,” you tell him. It’s true; you feel your entire body still trembling. 

“I think it’s time to take a break from the case,” he says. It isn’t patronizing at all, and his eyes never leave your face. It makes you start to blush, feeling self-conscious suddenly about how ridiculous your outburst was. “Sam, I’m – I’m sorry,” you mumble, staring at the floor as fresh tears blur your vision. How absolutely ridiculous. “No no no, hey ______, look,” he starts, gently taking your shoulders and turning you to face him. “I know you’ve been really over working yourself. Stress and lack of sleep – well,” he commented, shaking his head sadly. “Lets just say, I know how bad of a combination they are.” He gives you a wry half-smile, eyebrows still furrowed with worry. And that’s all it takes. One moment of solidarity with a friend. 

You wrap your arms around his enormous torso, your head barely reaching his chest. “Thank you.” It’s just a whisper, but you know he heard. A hum of understanding and big arms around you tell you that you’re not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is sort of personal for me. I'm a trauma survivor myself and as silly as it sounds, thinking about Sam (favorite character) being there to help me when I'm feeling my absolute worst is amazing. Supernatural has helped me through a lot, and still helps me today. This one is for all the rest of us who need help sometimes.


End file.
